


The Things We Require

by The_Forgotten_Nobody



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Crushes, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Room of Requirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7465242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Forgotten_Nobody/pseuds/The_Forgotten_Nobody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fourth time, something different happens.  Instead of the plush, ruby carpet, Harry steps onto warm sand and breathes in the salty tang of waves.  He’s on a beach.  A beach inhabited by none other than Draco Malfoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things We Require

**Author's Note:**

> Will there ever come a time I don't use part of the story as the summary? Probably not.

The first time Harry escapes to the Room of Requirement, it’s after a panic attack that leaves him breathless, confused and frustrated.  He’d been eating dinner, listening to Ron complain about how unfair it was to get homework on the second day back, when he was struck with the memory of the moment he killed Voldemort, witnessing the killing curse rebound and collide with his chest. Harry’s no stranger to these attacks, having had multiple in the summer, but he’s still caught off guard, especially since it’s caused by an event that by all accounts is a happy one.  If he told people it was Voldemort’s death that caused his chest to tighten and hands to sweat they’d think he was barmy; he does.  Maybe it’s the fact that,in the end, it was all so anti-climactic.  So much death and destruction only for Voldemort to be brought down by his own bloody killing curse.  He’d seen papers call it poetic, something Harry is sure Dumbledore would have echoed, but it just makes him feel sick.

The moment Harry felt the tell-tale symptoms of the oncoming attack, he pushed aside his unfinished dinner and didn't completely lie when he told his friends he wasn’t feeling well.  However, rather than go back to his room, he stumbled around the castle blindly, not realising until large brown doors materialise in front of him that he’d been unconsciously heading towards the Room of Requirement.  His mind immediately turns to the Room of Hidden Objects and heat instantly radiates from within.  A tremor running through him, Harry desperately asks it for a place where he can just _forget_.

The handle cools and Harry steps inside to find the Gryffindor Common Room.  Specifically, the Gryffindor Common Room as it appeared in first year.  Feeling as if a weight has been lifted from him, Harry gratefully settles into the comfy, over-sized arm chair and allows himself to be soothed by the crackling flames. 

* * *

 

The second time Harry goes is during the second week of term, right after he and Ginny break up.  It’s a mutual decision, one based on the fact that now they have the opportunity to pursue a real relationship, it doesn't feel completely right.  Harry will never say it was only because Ginny was there, because she is an amazing and incredible person, but having death hang over your head can cloud your judgement.  Ginny admits to him that she’d tried to make it work mostly because it had seemed like the logical thing, that of course they would get married and have kids.  Like the ending of a story.

It just turns out this isn’t their story.

* * *

 

The third time is after Harry’s intends to visit Hagrid and sees the forest.

* * *

 

The fourth time, something different happens.  Instead of the plush, ruby carpet, Harry steps onto warm sand and breathes in the salty tang of waves.  He’s on a beach.  A beach inhabited by none other than Draco Malfoy. 

He’s sitting on the sand, arms wrapped around legs that are tucked close against his chest.  He’s looking out beyond the sea, though at the sound of the door opening his head jerks towards Harry.  The wind halts momentarily as they stare at each other, neither entirely sure what to do.  Harry has one foot outside the door when he decides, to hell with it, and joins Draco.  He makes sure to keep a few feet of distance between them but even so, Draco looks at him like he’s gone mad.  Maybe he has, but the beach isn’t such a bad place at all to relax and having some companionship might be a nice change.  Eventually, Draco turns back to the water and together they bask in the light breeze and watch the soothing, repetitive motion of the waves.  No words end up being spoken, asking what the other is doing there.  They don’t need to.

Harry isn’t sure how long they sit together in silence. 

* * *

 

The fifth time, Harry gets the Common Room, as well as the sixth, except this time, while he’s lounging in front of the fire, pondering on his future after Hogwarts, he hears the door open and Draco steps inside.  His eyes widen a fraction as he takes in the décor and Harry is convinced he sees them roll.  Within seconds, he’s gone. 

The next time, when Harry asks for a place to forget, he steps out onto a sandy shore.

* * *

 

Even without the Half-Blood Prince’s notes, Harry discovers he still does better in Slughorn’s classes.  It really does make a difference when the teacher doesn’t hate you because he loved your mum and your dad was a bully.  That’s not to say he doesn’t respect what Snape did for him, but ultimately, the man was still a git when he didn’t have to be. 

Like previous years, the Gryffindors and Slytherins still share potions; however, the room is much quieter since everyone actually gets on with their work instead of attempting sabotage.  The calm helps Harry concentrate and more often than not, his potion actually comes out the right colour and everything.  He might not be writing the next revolutionary journal, but he might just scrape the marks required for the Auror training programme (even though they’d said they would take him with no qualifications.)(Harry’s not even sure he wants to be an Auror.)

Today’s task is to make a blinding potion and one minute Harry’s stirring the mixture anti-clockwise 22, no _23_ , times and the next his cauldron has erupted in flames that shoot up the brass cauldron and nearly burn Harry’s hands.  It’s only his quick reflexes that save him, but his alarm is quickly replaced with concern when he hears a cry of pure fear coming from the other side of the classroom.  Looking over, he sees Draco staring transfixed at the lilac flames, before a jostling from Greengrass snaps him out of it.  Draco shoves Greengrass out of the way and flees the classroom.  Focusing purposefully on Harry’s cauldron, Slughorn strides over and inspects the now dying fire.

“Bit of a mishap Harry?  Well, see how those flames are purple?  A bit of your potion must have escaped out the side.  Blinding potion is very flammable you see.  Perhaps try to be a bit less enthusiastic with your stirring,” Slughorn says with forced joviality.  The man’s improved since the beginning of term, where he barely did more than name a potion and point to the instructions on the board, but it's still obvious he’d rather be anywhere else.

Almost like they’re in part of a play, Harry plasters on a fake smile of his own and promises to be more careful.  It’s an empty promise, for Harry’s brain is fixated on Draco and it remains that way until the lesson ends 15 minutes later.  His potion is more mustard yellow than lime green but considering Harry has no one he particularly wants to blind, he doesn’t care.  After giving Ron and Hermione the half-hearted excuse he’s feeling a bit off, he hurries to the Room of Requirement.  There’s no guarantee Draco will be there, all things considering, but when Harry enters he finds the blonde there, face still a waxy white and arms clenched tightly around his shins.

Now that he’s found him, Harry finds he isn’t entirely sure what to do and so sticks with what he’s best at – actions.  Rather than offer something pitying or awkward, he settles with putting a hand lightly on Draco’s shoulders.  Beneath his palm, Draco tenses before slowly releasing a deep sigh and pressing his forehead on his knees. 

Harry pretends not to notice the tear tracks. 

* * *

 

Malfoy became Draco out loud during the trials.  At first, it was simply for show since he couldn’t very well testify calling the bloke by his last name.  Everyone already knew they were rivals; if he’d shown the slightest bit of animosity then the jury would have fixated on it and thrown him and his mother into Azkaban which ultimately, Harry didn’t want.  Not after they’d both played their part in helping them win the war.  Lucius was a lost cause, one that Harry wasn’t sorry about. 

Malfoy became Draco in his head once Harry returned Draco’s wand to him.  It was after Draco and his mother had been pardoned and they were waiting for a Portkey to take them back to Malfoy Manor.  Harry was due to go in for another trial but it was something he needed to do, especially after overhearing Narcissa mention an extended trip to France.  Who knew if he’d see Draco again? 

He remembers the surprise in Draco’s eyes when Harry had run up to him, the almost defensive stance he held himself in as if he wasn’t sure Harry was going to try and attack him.  Pretty stupid considering Harry had just saved his arse, but Harry didn’t blame him too much.  They may not have been held in Azkaban but the dark smudges and pale complexion suggested their time under arrest had not been pleasant.  There were a lot of angry, vengeful people in the world now. 

“What do you want Potter?”  Draco asked wearily and Harry brought out the wand.  While it was a nice wand, and he’d won it fair and square, Harry would never consider it his and it deserved to be with its rightful owner. 

“This is yours.  You should have it back.”

“Oh.”  Hesitantly, Draco took the wand and lightly brushed his fingertips over it.  “I truly wasn’t expecting to get this back,” he muttered and Harry shrugged.

“Well, it’s yours, isn’t it?  Anyway, I’ve got a new one.”  It wasn’t quite the same as his old one but it worked just as well. 

“I see.  Well.  Thank you Potter.  For everything.”  He then offered Harry a tired, pained little smile and that was the moment Malfoy became Draco.

* * *

 

Something the public seemed to forget was that Harry, just like every other person, had the right to a bit of privacy. Simply walking down Diagon Alley had become a mission during the summer thanks to the enormous number of people who either wanted to offer thanks, get a picture with/of him, or curse him.  One forward woman even thrust her dribbling baby into his arms and tried to convince him to kiss her.  After that memorable moment, Harry took to wearing glamours when he went out.

It was a common misconception that, because he played such an integral part, all Harry wanted to talk about was the war; as if it was the only thing interesting about him (which, maybe is true, but that’s an insecurity Harry wants to bury 10 feet under the ground.)  No, Harry doesn’t want to just brush the war under a metaphorical rug; people sacrificed so much and that shouldn’t be forgotten, but nor does he want to relive painful memories every time someone wants to know a meaningless question or ask stuff such as ‘was a house-elf really all that important?’  Sometimes, Harry really hates people.  And that wasn’t even taking into account the speeches and other publicity stunts.  At the end of summer, Harry vowed never do any of those again.   

The new Minister of Magic apparently didn’t get the memo. 

Despite the fact Kingsley Shacklebolt was the popular choice for the position, he’d been assigned to be a public relations ambassador so he was busy travelling the globe trying to mend relationships with the other Wizarding communities who’d cut ties with Britain when Voldemort rose to power.  This meant that they were given who the Ministry deemed the next best thing – Edwin Collymonk.  Now, Collymonk wasn’t a bad bloke.  He had good intentions and most of the time Harry had no problem talking to him.  It was just that he was a man used to getting his own way and right now, what he wanted was for Harry Potter to make an impromptu speech at Hogwarts Halloween Feast – an event that McGonagall’s frown said he shouldn’t have even been at. 

“And now, what better way to celebrate these better times than to have Hogwart’s very own hero, Harry Potter, give a few words?”

All heads swivel towards Harry who freezes in his seat.  It’s like fourth year all over again except this time, Hermione isn’t nudging him to stand.  In fact, her hand is latched on his knee to keep him seated, her face darkening with rage. 

“What an utter arse!”  She hisses as the whisperings begin at Harry’s stillness.

Ron grips his shoulder loosely.  “You don’t have to do anything mate,” he says, glaring daggers at Collymonk and the few students who are staring at Harry with expectant adoration. 

“You’re right,” Harry says, though he shakes off Hermione and Ron and stands. However, just as a delighted expression comes on Collymonk’s face, he continues loudly, “I’m the last person to want the world to forget the war and its casualties, but that does not mean I’m now the Ministry’s pawn, ready to provide some hollow words whenever you want.  Try this again Minister, without at least having the decency to ask, then we’ll just see what I have to say when the Daily Prophet gets an exclusive on my opinion of the Ministry.”

And with Collymonk’s face reddening in shocked embarrassment, he leaves.   

* * *

 

“Why, that was almost Slytherin of you Potter,” Draco comments as he watches Harry pace angrily.  The shock of Draco actually speaking to him makes him pause in his tracks.  Continuing as if he hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary, Draco says, “I mean, I wouldn’t have done it in front of the entire school, but otherwise it was nicely done.”

Harry snorts, sinking into the soft sun lounger the room had added in the hope it might improve his sour mood.  “You know, the hat wanted to put me in Slytherin.”

“Huh.”  Draco ponders.  “Imagine that, the Golden Boy in emerald.  Snape would have had an aneurism.”

Unbidden, Harry let out a burst of laughter.  “If I’d known, maybe I wouldn’t have fought the hat so hard.”

Draco’s mouth opens but the question on the tip of his tongue dies as his lips turn down into a frown.  In an attempt to regain the light-hearted mood, Harry says, “Maybe the green would have matched my eyes.”

It works.  Draco’s nose upturns haughtily.  “Please.  They’d clash horribly.  No, as much as it pains me to admit, you look much better in red.”

The compliment hidden within the insults starts an odd, warm feeling in Harry’s belly.

* * *

 

It’s was never Harry’s intention to go out in the raging storm; however the building crowd of eager faces and Ron and Hermione’s looming reservation time meant that he was forced to brave it if he didn’t want to suffer a mob on his own.  It’s for this reason that Harry is now drenched, tired and miserable.  The rain has continued to pound on him all the way from Hogsmede and even his impervius charm is struggling to keep his glasses water free (though that may be more due to Harry’s shoddy spell work).  It’s alright though, because he’s now so very close to the safety of Hogwarts and to having a nice long hot shower. 

Of course that’s when the universe decides to mess with him a bit more.

The moment he reaches the courtyard, he spies the tell-tale flash of spells out of the corner of his eye.  Harry half-debates leaving it, but the side of him that Ron and Hermione lovingly call his hero-complex urges him to at least check.  It’s with one last longing look to the castle that Harry diverts and reluctantly goes to investigate.  Fortunately, it doesn’t take him long to find the source. 

Through his blurred vision, Harry can just make out three figures.  By the looks of things, it’s a two vs. one fight.  He moves closer, just in time to witness a curse thrown from the single student.  A shield charm is raised quickly in defence and Harry barely manages to duck in time to avoid the rebounded curse hitting him straight in the head.  The grunt as he thumps to the sodden ground alerts the fighting students to his presence and Harry's skid along the mud towards them allows him the opportunity to identify one of the students. 

Draco.  He’s standing in front of a tiny Slytherin girl and has his wand aimed at a young Gryffindor student, though his stance briefly falters when he sees Harry.

“What’s going on?”  Harry yells over the thunder that claps as he stands.  He grimaces at the feeling of wet mud clinging to his knees.  The Gryffindor quickly bounds over to him, looking far too delighted at Harry’s entrance.  

“He attacked me Harry!”  The kid says earnestly, bouncing a little on his heels.  “Him and that little Death Eater!”

Before Harry has the chance to respond, Draco storms forward and shoves his wand into the Gryffindor’s chest.

“Do _not_ call her that,” he snarls. 

“But that’s what all you Slytherin’s are!  Right Harry?”  The Gryffindor gives Harry a knowing grin, as if they were suddenly best mates.  Draco also looks to Harry but his expression has resignation written all over it, as if he’s already accepted that Harry will take the Gryffindor’s side.

Harry had hoped Draco might have a bit more faith in him by this point. 

“What’s your name?” Harry asks the kid, much more calmly than he feels inside.

“Peter Wallington,” Peter replies confidently, like he’s already won. 

“Right, okay.  Well Peter, I’m sure Headmistress McGonagall will be pleased to hear how you insulted and attacked a first year student.”  (Okay, so he was aiming at Draco but he could have easily missed and hit the girl.)

It’s almost satisfying, no, it _is_ satisfying seeing the grin fall from Peter’s face.  Even Draco takes a step back in surprise. 

“But, but I thought, you-”

“You thought what?  That I want Gryffindors going around picking on innocent kids?” Harry interrupts; a steely tone in his voice. “So what, because Voldemort was in Slytherin that means all Slytherins are bad?  Well, did you know what house his right hand man belonged in?  Gryffindor.  And I’ll bet you there were even some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who supported him too, but no one ever thinks about that, do they?  Listen Peter, we’ve already had a war, do you want to fuel another?  What did that first year do to you?  She’s just a child.  Grow up and be a real Gryffindor.”

Harry turns from him in disgust and brushes past a stunned Draco to crouch by the Slytherin girl who’s staring at him with both uncertainty and amazement.

“Are you okay?  You’re not hurt anywhere?”

The girl shakes her head and Harry breathes a sigh of relief.  “Good.  C’mon, we should get you out of the rain and to Madam Pomfrey for a pepper-up potion.  You should probably get one too,” Harry directs to Draco, jogging him out of his frozen stupor.  Slowly, with one last dark glare to Peter, Draco puts away his wand and begins to follow them towards the castle.  Grudgingly, Harry adds an, “And you,” to Peter but the kid wisely remains a good distance away as they walk.

“So, what’s your name?”  Harry asks the girl.  He notices her shivers and casts a warming spell on her.

“Elicia,” she replies with a grateful smile. 

“You sure you’re alright?  Peter didn’t attack you, did he?” 

“No,” Elicia shakes her head.  “He just called me bad names.  He started getting kinda close and that’s when Draco came and pointed his wand at him.  I think he was only threatening him but then Peter threw a curse at him.  I can’t remember what it was but it was really cool how Draco stopped it!”  Elicia gushes.  “That’s when you showed up.”

“Lucky for him it was only a stupefy,” Draco mutters beside him and Harry has to stifle a grin.  For once, it isn’t Harry with the admirer.

“It’s a good job Draco was there then,” Harry says while giving Draco a meaningful look which, if he isn’t mistaken, causes the other man’s cheeks to turn slightly pink.    

“Yeah, Draco’s the best!  Thank you for helping me.”  Elicia emphasises her thanks with a squelching hug and yep, Draco’s cheeks are definitely a rosy pink.  Lips twisted into a pained smile, Draco pats her awkwardly on the head.  It’s all Harry can do not to burst out laughing.

“It’s nothing.  Really, don’t mention it.”

It’s with a combined sigh of relief that they finally enter Hogwarts, puddles forming beneath their feet.  Harry intends to leave Elicia with Draco there so he can get that shower he’s been dreaming of, but he hasn’t even said a word when Draco’s eyes narrow on him. 

“Thinking of going somewhere Potter?”   

“Um.”

“Don’t you need a Pepper-Up potion too?” Elicia asks and Harry’s about to refuse when Draco adds, “Yes Potter, you were out there just as long.  You ought to get one as well.”

“Really, I-”

“That stubbornness was cute when we were children but honestly Potter, we can’t have the saviour of the wizarding world dying from pneumonia just because of some pride.”

“It’s not pride…”  Any more protests are cut off as Draco grabs Harry by the arm and quite literally drags him towards the Hospital Wing, Elicia trailing behind them bemusedly. 

As Pomfrey fusses over them, all Harry’s mind can do is loop the ‘cute’ over and over again.

* * *

 

For a long time now Harry has known, objectively, that Draco is a fit bloke.  With that delicate, sharp edged face, hair that shone brightly in sunlight and eyes that were more expressive than Harry had ever realised, he is, to put it simply, bloody handsome.  It was something that was easier to deal with when they were rivals and Draco was an utter git, but now, after seeing what Harry had come to call the ‘real’ Draco, and witnessing him protecting Elicia, it was becoming a problem. 

A Very Big Problem. 

“You’re staring again Harry,” Hermione says, jabbing Harry in the side and making him yelp.

“Was not,” Harry grumbles, purposefully looking at his plate and _not_ Draco Malfoy (who only caught his attention because he was wearing a hat – Draco _never_ wears hats.)  (It’s not Harry’s fault he looks bloody good in them.)

“You sort of were mate,” Ron confirms unhelpfully.  “You don’t think he’s up to something, do you?”

Hermione sighs.  “Honestly Ron, of course he’s not ‘up to something’.  Do you really think he would be now?”

Ron shrugs and stuffs some more mashed potato in his mouth.  “I dunno?  His dad might have made him do something.”

Head shaking in exasperation, Hermione says, “He’s not that stupid.  I saw him in the library a few days ago.  By the looks of it he was tutoring a younger student.  Someone ‘up to something’ wouldn’t do that.”

“Tutoring?”  Harry says at the same time Ron grumbles, “Could be an act.”

Hermione chooses to ignore Ron.  “I think so.  It does appear he’s trying to turn over a new leaf.  He’s not the only one either.  Bullstrode and Zabini actually smiled at me yesterday.”

“That’s just creepy,” Ron says, frowning.  “They’ve definitely got to be up to something.”

“Or maybe they just want to have a peaceful last year like the rest of us,” Hermione points out.  “We need a bit more unity within the school.  Don’t you agree Harry?”

“Mm.”  Harry isn’t sure what Hermione just said.  Did Draco always eat ice cream like that?

* * *

 

Harry might not know much about babies, but even so he’s fairly sure that Teddy, at 9 months old, is a very happy one.  True, he doesn’t really spend enough time around him to find out otherwise, but whenever Harry sees him he’s always gurgling and smiling.  Andromeda had informed him in a letter that Teddy’s powers are beginning to develop and Harry gets proof the moment Teddy spies him.  Wisps of hair that were normally bright blonde turned inky black and his grey eyes morphed into the same shade of green as Harry’s. 

“It’s his favourite thing to do now,” Andromeda says, smiling proudly.  “That and play with his rattle of course.” 

When Teddy had been 3 months old, Harry had bought his godson a wolf rattle, custom-made by a grateful toy-maker in Diagon Alley.  It was one of the few instances Harry had used his status for a favour but Teddy deserved something to remind him of his father.  Even if all he did was shake it and stick it in his mouth. 

As if understanding, Teddy crawls over to his toy box and pulls out the rattle, waving it enthusiastically.  “Moo!”  He cries happily, making Harry’s heart clench.

“Oh, hey,” Harry says, when he feels confident to speak without his voice breaking.  “Mrs Weasley said you and Teddy are invited to the burrow for Christmas.” 

“Goodness, doesn’t that woman have enough mouths to feed?  Why on earth would she want more?”  Andromeda carefully moves Teddy so he doesn’t bash his rattle into the table leg.  Teddy decides Harry’s shin is a much more suitable alternative. 

Harry gives her a helpless smile, cushioning the blow to his leg with his hand.  “She told me to insist if you tried to refuse.”

Andromeda laughs.  “Well, when Molly has her mind set on something you can’t argue.  Although…” she trails off.  “I did promise Cissy I’d spend some time with her.”

Cissy?  “You mean Mrs Malfoy?”

“Yes. Ever since that no-good husband of hers got packed off to Azkaban for good I find my sister is much more agreeable.  She actually approached me, saying she wanted to try and mend our relationship, something I honestly thought wouldn’t be possible at this point.”

“Oh.”  Harry barely thinks before blurting out, “She can always come to the burrow.  Draco too.”

Andromeda’s eyebrows shoot upwards.  “It’s certainly kind of you to expend Molly’s generosity,” she says wryly and Harry blushes. “But so long as Molly’s alright with it then I can extend the invitation.  It would do Cissy some good to have more friends.  I presume you and Draco are on better terms then?”

“Uh, yeah, something like that,” Harry replies, rubbing the back of his neck.  Andromeda’s smile widens and a knowing glint enters her eyes that Harry does not like one bit. 

* * *

 

“You invited mother and I to Christmas at the Weasley’s,” Draco states as he enters the extravagantly decorated living room the Room had created when Harry asked for something festive.  He spares a moment to grimace at the 10 foot, brightly coloured tree, before going back to staring at Harry incredulously. 

“Um.  Yes.”  Harry blinks.  Draco flops down into the green and red striped arm chair and counters the ungracious movement by delicately placing one leg over the other.

“Why?”

“I dunno.  Why not?  Andromeda mentioned wanting to see you guys and I just it might be, you know, nice.”

“Nice.”  Draco repeats, staring at Harry long enough that he begins to feel uncomfortable.  “Well, mother has refused dinner.”  Harry’s heart sinks.  “However, she has agreed to a short drink in the evening.  We will be having dinner with my Grand-mére as we do every year.”

“Let me guess, five course meals with pheasant and caviar.”

Draco rolls his eyes.  “Please.  It’s only four and we have snails, or _escargot_ , as they should be called.”

If you’d have told sixth year Harry he’d get turned on by hearing Draco Malfoy say snails in French, he’d have laughed in your face.

* * *

 

They meet once more before the Christmas holidays in the same gaudy room as before.  Draco had previously tried to get the room to change to something more tasteful but it refused to remove a single thing (making Harry believe he secretly likes it).  It does, however, comply to provide a chess board when Draco requests one. Harry grimaces at the board that appears between them.

“Not a fan?”  Draco asks idly as he examines the pieces. 

“You’d be better off playing against Ron.  He’s tried teaching me but I just can’t get the hang of it.”

Draco’s nose wrinkles (adorably), like the very idea of even thinking Ron might be good at something he enjoys is a horrifying prospect.  Rather than be offended on his friend’s behalf, as he once would have been, Harry only laughs, seeing the action for what it really is – an act. 

“We’ll just have to improve your skills then until you provide somewhat of challenge,” Draco says decisively and plays the first move. 

Harry quickly learns that Draco plays much differently to Ron.  Ron’s moves are fast, relying on instinct born from years of practice whereas Draco takes his time, scanning the board diligently to determine what move would be best to make next.  It means the game is much less frantic than Harry’s used to, which is good, but what isn’t so helpful is that this chess-set is far less willing to cooperate than Seamus’ pieces had been – and they were bad enough as it was. 

“Come on!  Knight to C6!  Why won’t it move?”

The knight continues to tap its foot impatiently and from over its helmet, Draco smirks at him.  Surrounded by the multi-coloured fairy-lights, Harry’s reminded yet again just how _good_ Draco looks.  So distracted at memorising the way each colour lights up his complexion, he nearly misses what Draco says.

“Are you sure there’s not a better move you could make?”

Harry examines the board again.  By moving his knight, he’d get one of Draco’s bishops and then he’d be able to get one of his pawns.  He doesn’t see the problem.

“At least Seamus’ pieces gave me advice,” he mutters sullenly.

“You’ll never learn if you just get told what to do, especially by someone else’s pieces,” Draco huffs.  “Look, if you move your knight there then you’ll set yourself up for my queen to take your castle, which can then take your queen and would put you in check.”

Harry follows Draco’s finger along the path it trails and frowns.  “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”  Draco mimics with a smile.  “Try moving a castle.”

“Hm.  Castle to A7?”  It only takes a pawn but the castle moves willingly and the knight Harry had previously tried to move nods approvingly.  “You’d make a good teacher,” Harry mentions, suddenly reminded of what Hermione said. 

“I’d hope so.  It’s what I want to do after Hogwarts,” Draco says, holding his chin in consideration as he decides what to do next.

“Really?  What do you want to teach?” 

“Arithmancy.  I’d need to spend a few years on a Master’s but after that I’d like to return to Hogwarts if there’s an opening.  What I’d really like to do is replace that incompetent buffoon Slughorn as Slytherin Head. I realise restoring Slytherin house pride is no easy task but that man is doing absolutely nothing at all.  A monkey could do better.  Bishop to E4.”

“Wow.  You sound like you have your life sorted already.”

“Don’t you?  Rumour has it the Aurors would have taken you without NEWTS.”

Harry sighs, chess game forgotten.  “It’s what everyone expects but I don’t think it’s what I want to do.  I’ve had enough of fighting dark wizards to last me a lifetime.”

“Understandable.”  Draco nods.  “So, what do you want to do?”

“Honestly?  I dunno.  I mean, there’s always Quidditch, though I’ve been thinking about maybe becoming a Mediwizard. That way I could still help people.”

“You do realise you need a decent mark in potions, right?”  Draco asks with a smirk and Harry laughs, thumping him lightly. 

“Oh, shove off Draco.”  Draco stills suddenly.  “Uh, everything alright?”

Draco presses his lips firmly together, before quietly saying, “You called me Draco.”

“Er, yeah.  That’s your name.  I’ve called you it before,” Harry replies, very confused. 

“Only in trials and in front of Elicia,” Draco points out and Harry racks his brain to find any other instance he might have called Draco by his name.  Coming up blank, he realises Draco’s right.  Either, Harry’s never said it or Draco’s called him Potter still.  At the time, he hadn’t even noticed. 

“Well, you could call me Harry.  Or I could go back to calling you Malfoy if you prefer.”

“No,” Draco hurriedly says, and they both look a bit shocked at the vehemence.  “No,” he continues a bit more calmly.  “I’ll call you Harry…I suppose we are acquaintances of a sort now.”

“Bloody hell Draco,” Harry laughs.  “I’d say we were at least friends now, wouldn’t you?”  Harry winces at the ‘at least’ and hopes Draco doesn’t notice.  No need to frighten Draco off now with a stupid crush.

Draco makes a low humming noise.  “I guess we are.  Only eight years too late.”  He sticks out a hand and Harry, feeling like a first year all over again, grasps it tightly. 

“Better late than never.”

* * *

 

As expected, Ron doesn’t take too kindly to the news that Draco and his mother will be making an appearance at Christmas.

“Harry, mate, are you sure you’re not cursed or something?  I mean, c’mon, it’s _Malfoy_.  Since when are you two friends?”  It’s not often that Harry regrets not telling Ron and Hermione about his secret meetings with Draco, but this has to be one of those moments.

“I told you something was going on,” Hermione sing-songs, a smug grin on her face.

“But it’s Malfoy,” Ron whines.  “Harry, you’re my best mate and all, and I support you whatever, but couldn’t you have at least gone for Zabini?  At least he never tried to actively kill us…that I know of.”

“No, I believe Ginny has dibs on him.”

“She has _what_?”  Harry and Ron exclaim in union, their gaping mouths sending Hermione into a fit of giggles. 

“I’m joking,” Hermione says, still catching her breath back.  “Though honestly, I wouldn’t be too surprised.  I’ve seen the two of them together.”

“Oh Merlin.”  Ron’s face falls into his palms.  “I’m all for a bit of peace but isn’t this going a bit too far?”  He asks weakly. 

“We’re just friends Ron,” Harry says, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.  “It’s not a big deal.”

Harry resolutely decides to ignore Hermione’s mumbled, “For now you are.”

* * *

 

The beginning of the Christmas holiday passes in a blur of painting, carpeting and construction.  While there are a few antiques Harry chooses (is forced to on pain of death by Kreacher) to keep, most of the stuff in 12 Grimmauld Place is just too old and has to be removed.  Fortunately, Ron and the rest of the Weasley’s pitch in to help (Hermione is spending a completely muggle Christmas with her memory-restored parents) and even Neville and Luna pop over.

“I know it might not be finished yet, but I think a nice house plant brightens any home!”  Neville cheerfully says, bearing a purple crumpleweed.   “And these things are supposed to detect dark magic.  Grab onto the offending person or artefact if it’s close enough.”  He passes the plant to Harry who holds it at arm’s length, dubiously eyeing the wiggling tentacle-like leaves.  After a moment of indecision he places it on the fire place.  That way he can claim an unfortunate accident. 

“It’s a shame it can’t get rid of the Rankles,” Luna laments as she takes a look at Harry’s half-constructed coffee table. 

“Rankles?”  Harry asks, catching Neville’s eye who shrugs. 

“They’re a bit like spirits, no, more like remnants of the previous inhabitants.  Everyone who’s lived in a house leaves a part of themselves there when they die, their own footprint built from their experiences, emotions.  Considering how long this house has been passed on through the generations, they’re particularly strong here.  I don’t think they like you very much.”

“Because I’m not a Black?”  Harry guesses and Luna tilts her head to the side.

“Probably.  You might want to be careful.  The longer you’re here the more active they get.  Mother once told me of a woman who was killed by the Rankles in her house.  Nasty business.”

“Oh, uh, that’s great.”  Harry desperately hopes this is one of the times where Luna’s imagination is just being overactive, but he’s learnt to take her more seriously than he used to.  “Is there a way to get rid of them?”

“Not that I know of, sorry.  They might be appeased if they sense another Black.”

“I guess there’s Andromeda…”

“I was more thinking Draco.”

“Draco?”  Neville asks. 

“Yes, he’s a Black.  I saw his name on the wall and you’re friends now, aren’t you?  I’ve seen the two of you meet in the Room of Requirement.”

“I, uh, I-”

“Now you mention it I did hear Ron complaining about how Malfoy was visiting his house.  Something you’ve not been telling us Harry?”  Neville grins and Harry knows his face is as red as it feels. 

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.  It’s nice to see the both of you so happy.  Are you getting him a Christmas present?”

Present?  It’s the 23rd of December.  Bloody hell.

“I think we’ll take that as a no,” Neville whispers to Luna.

* * *

 

Christmas is as loud an affair as Harry anticipates.  It’s still tinged with sadness, they all spend a few moments toasting and mourning Fred, but otherwise everyone is keeping as happy as possible.  Molly has outdone herself and by early evening, everyone is relaxing with glasses of mulled wine.  By the time Draco and Narcissa arrive, Harry is pleasantly tipsy, a dozing Teddy nestled securely on his lap. 

There’s a lull in the conversation when they enter, looking extremely out of place what with Draco in dress robes and Narcissa in a shimmering sapphire gown, but Andromeda saves any awkwardness by quickly going to greet her sister.  Harry decides to help and transfers Teddy into his arms so he can stand and go to Draco.  He balances his godson on one arm and holds out a hand to Draco, even if every inebriated instinct in him is screaming for him to at least hug the man because Draco’s cologne smells _incredible_. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been hiding a child away,” Draco teases with a raised eyebrow.  Looking down, Harry realises that Teddy’s still got the black hair and green eyes, though the second his bleary eyes spot Draco he becomes a miniature Malfoy. 

“This is Teddy.  I think he must be your cousin or something?”

“Cousin once removed,”  Narcissa swiftly corrects.  “Pleasure to see you again Mr Potter, Merry Christmas.”  Narcissa also shakes Harry’s hand and by the time Harry has finished debating whether or not to kiss it, she’s retreated to greet Molly.  Draco stays behind and Andromeda takes Teddy out of Harry’s arms to go put him down for the night. 

“So, Merry Christmas,” Harry says, when they’ve been standing there in silence a bit too long.

“And you.  I was promised alcohol?  I feel that’s the only way I’ll survive this.”

“Right yeah, let me get you a glass.”

It’s on the way to get some more mulled wine that Harry passes the Christmas tree and remembers there’s still one more present left.  Ron couldn’t believe it when Harry said it was for Draco.  He grabs the haphazardly wrapped gift on the way back and gives it to Draco who takes it with surprise.

“Why Po-Harry.  You shouldn’t have.  I didn’t get you anything.”  Draco frowns. 

“It’s fine.  It’s not anything special, really.  Not that I don’t think you should get something special but-”

“Merlin, are you always like this after a few drinks?  Here, hold this and I’ll open it.”

Draco thrusts his glass at Harry, who bounces nervously one foot to the other as he waits for Draco’s reaction. 

“It’s a crumpleweed,” Harry spits out when Draco doesn’t say anything.  “Apparently it’s used to detect-”

“Dark magic,” Draco finishes drolly.  “Well, I suppose it will have a field day at home.”

“I, uh.”  It hadn’t occurred to Harry that if it would be bad at Grimmauld Place, it would be a nightmare at Malfoy Manor.  “Oops.”  Not the best way to try and show someone you like them.

Draco lets out a snort.  “I appreciate the thought.  Do you mind if I take a break outside.  I’m concerned Weasley is trying to set me on fire with his mind, that expression is quite alarming.”

“Fresh air, sure, yeah,” Harry says, glad he hasn’t mortally offended Draco.  Giving Ron a look that says ‘cut it out’, Harry follows Draco out the back door and into the garden which is equally as decorated as indoors, with a tent set up combined with a warming charm and floating candles.  They take refuge from the bitter cold air inside it and Harry doesn’t think he can blame the alcohol for the warm feeling that spreads through him at seeing Draco in candlelight. 

“You know you’re staring again Harry,” Draco says and Harry starts.

“Am not,” he replies, almost out of habit, but Draco isn’t convinced.

“See something you like?”  He asks casually, taking a delicate sip of the wine.  There’s a slight crinkle in his nose though he bravely carries on, taking another taste.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Harry quickly defends because there’s no way Draco could be flirting with him.  No chance at all.  “So, good Christmas?”  He questions in an attempt to divert the conversation but Draco is apparently not so easily swayed. 

“No, tell me.  Don’t think I haven’t noticed.  In fact, I’ve noticed quite a bit.”  Draco leans forward, enough that Harry can just about feel each puff of air that escapes him.  He gulps.

“Well, well, well.  I come out here for a little break and what do I find?  Draco Malfoy seducing my honorary little brother.  No, no, don’t stop on my account.  In fact, why don’t you take a look above you?” 

George’s head, which had suddenly appeared around the tent flap and scared the living daylights out of Harry and Draco, vanishes and both men do as he said, craning their heads upwards to find a hovering piece of mistletoe directly above them.

“Why, this is very cliché,” Draco says but Harry’s always been more a man of action and he’s not about to waste the opportunity given to him and so he grabs Draco by the collar and draws him in for a sloppy, awkward kiss that is just as amazing as Harry imagined it would be.  Draco’s glass ends up floating in the air (show off) and he returns the kiss with, more controlled, fervour and there goes any worries about Draco not feeling the same way.  They break apart, breathless, and drawing a blank as to what to do next, he blurts out the first thing that comes to him.

“You should come over to my house, I have Rankles.”

Okay, maybe he should have thought about that a bit more, considering the wide-eyed look Draco is giving him.  “Oh Merlin.  You’re insane.  I’ve clearly just taken advantage of an insane perso-”

Maybe he’ll just stick to kissing him. 

* * *

 

Though they may not have shared their first kiss in the Room of Requirement, that doesn’t mean it isn’t home to many others.  Their first date takes place there, the room taking the form of a fancy upper class restaurant that Draco like and Harry pulling some strings with the house-elves.  Their first fight happens in it, when Harry assumes that the reason Draco doesn’t want to make their relationship public is because he’s unwilling to tolerate Harry’s friends.  The room also holds their first ‘I love yous’, muttered into sweat slick skin draped with soft, cream sheets.

It’s where they say their goodbyes and where they say hello again, with Draco returning as the Arithmancy Professor and Slytherin Head and Harry taking the role of Madam Pomfrey’s assistant.

It might not be the life Harry had envisioned for himself, but it’s worth it, especially when Harry stumbles across Snape’s portrait one afternoon and gets to tell the man he’s marrying his godson.

**Author's Note:**

> This was purely a self-indulgent fic. Throughout the last year I've been re-watching the Harry Potter films and after watching the last film, I needed to write something about what could happen next. I'd also wanted to write a Harry/Draco fic for a while and this was the result. I hope you liked it and will consider leaving a kudos or a comment :)
> 
> (Also, can you tell I've recently read Carry On by Rainbow Rowell, if you haven't read it you have to, it's amazing.)


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